


The Aussie, the Snake, and the Wardrobe

by Lab Notes (auronlu)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Dubcon that's borderline noncon, F/F, I was having enough trouble overcoming someone's scruples as it was, Possession, Shameless Smut, older!Nyssa, oops I think I dropped poor Lasarti right out of the continuity, pairing: indestructible, sorry Lasarti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auronlu/pseuds/Lab%20Notes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Big Finish's "Cradle of the Snake" audio play (spoilers), a gratuitous PWP to indulge the inner Mara of Nyssa/Tegan fans who have prurient tastes. Dialog and timespans slightly adjusted for purposes of smut.</p><p>...and I'm not even going to apologize for that title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aussie, the Snake, and the Wardrobe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mylordshesacactus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/gifts).



Staring straight ahead to avoid glimpsing what lurked inside the cages, Tegan strode through the warehouse of unnatural animals, plants and birds. She had to force herself to step over a poisonous green snake across the path. They were everywhere, writhing through the undergrowth, draped across bars, moving, watching, hissing...

She tore her eyes away, feeling the raw shivery wrongness like a scar inside her mind. She had been so sure the Mara was gone. Now she knew it could come back at any time.  And on this occasion, neither Nyssa nor the Doctor could save her.

There. A flutter of velvet through fronds of ferns. Tegan was relieved to see Nyssa looking quite her old self, a petite figure tucked up amidst the flowers, a demurely garbed Eve in a veritable Eden if one did not look closely at the lurid, twisted shapes of the petals, all writhing and groping. Birds were singing, or something very like birds, feathered with three wings or four or long whip-tails. Perched on a low-hanging branch behind Nyssa’s shoulder, a green parrot with the head of a grasshopper ground out a chirruping tune on its wing-edges. It flew off as Tegan drew near.

Browsing a stack of books, the older woman was sprawled on a bed of cushions laid across some crates. So reassuringly Nyssa: while others dashed about with heroic clamor, she searched for solutions in databanks and dusty tomes. But her posture was too languid, too casual, sandals kicked off and one bare toe rubbing absently at her calf beneath the hem of fawn-colored capris. Her green brocaded vest was unlaced, the loose creamy blouse beneath unbuttoned far enough to show a hint of a different sort of lace. Tegan averted her eyes from unfreckled skin. She remembered how, as a girl, Nyssa had always buttoned right to her throat, due to some cultural reticence that she had shed only after years of traveling with the Doctor.

“Nyssa?” Tegan said, putting on a brave smile.

"Tegan!" Nyssa tossed the book aside with a discus-cast. It landed with pages crumpled and in disarray. _Oh, no._ Drawing nearer, Tegan saw that her eyes were red-rimmed, her teeth stained faintly with blood — or wine? Sure enough, there was an empty glass and drained bottle sitting close at hand, although Tegan could not be sure what their contents had been. 

"You look in a bit of a state," Nyssa said kindly. "I thought they'd locked you up." Oh, Nyssa was the last person who should have been able to say that last with a suggestive leer.

"I...I got out." Tegan gave a nervous laugh.

"True to form." Nyssa took her measure with an odd smile. Tegan felt suddenly self-conscious of that tired old white tube top and shorts, which had seemed a sensible ensemble this morning when the Doctor promised a beach town. 

"I'm so sorry it happened to you, too," Tegan said, perching awkwardly on the pillows next to her and wishing she could reach out. The snake tattoo's head peeked past the neat ruffles on Nyssa's forearm. All she had to do was clasp hands. Could Tegan resist?

"Taking the mark?" Nyssa raised her arm and slipped the sleeve back, neat fingers brushing against the red and black stylized brand. "Seeing sense at last, you mean. All that time I've wasted..." her lids drooped, haughty and self-mocking. "I finally realized what a self-righteous little prig I've always been. Embarrassing, really."

"You're a good person, Nyssa," Tegan said. "Even if you don't remember it just now."

"Mm." She shook her head, dismissive. "Still, now it's all taken a turn for the better." She gave Tegan a brilliant, dangerous smile and raised herself up, leaning towards her. 

"Nyssa, have you been drinking?" Tegan said, scooting away from that seraphic devilry. 

"Well, why not?" she said, laughing. "We've something to celebrate, haven't we? And guess what. I think I've even found..."  she raised the wineglass to her lips, then reached out and brushed Tegan's cheek with the cold glass, making her jump, "a sense of humor. How about that?"

"You always had a sense of humor," Tegan said, wondering frantically what possible good she could do here. Nyssa needed her help — that was more clear with every word and coquettish glance — but she had no idea how to reach her.

"But I didn't enjoy it." She tipped the glass, letting the last drop fall onto the white fabric of Tegan's tube top, where the red liquid spread out like a spot of blood. "What a waste....Oh, but I am sorry for you." Gray-green eyes fixed Tegan with a hooded intensity, like a cat contemplating a mouse.

"Me?" Tegan said, seized by a panicky urge to flee and a deeper urge to stay, which she thrust down hard and sharp. 

"Missing out on all the fun! Don't feel too dejected, you poor darling." The Mara-kissed hand came up to caress Tegan’s throat with a fingertip.

Tegan opened her mouth to protest, lips suddenly dry. 

"The Doctor's furious with you of course, but he was always such a bully, either sulking or shouting..." her hand had dropped to Tegan's bare shoulder, a gesture that should have been comforting, protective, even maternal. Just now, it was absolutely none of those things. "Yes. I think we'll have to do something about him... later, perhaps..." 

Tensing, Tegan set her hand over Nyssa's fingers, gently peeling them off. “And how, exactly, can we stop him?” She flinched as Nyssa turned her hand over, bringing their wrists together, the tattooed snake sliding against unmarked skin. Nyssa's eyes were mocking, amused.

"You needn't play the shy one," she said, "just to compensate."

“Nyssa, please,” Tegan said, trying to sound firm. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“Really?” Nyssa pulled back and tilted her head, looking up at her in mock-surprise. Despite the gulf of years, Tegan saw in that gesture the guileless girl she had been, the bobbing ringlets, the wide-eyed innocent— _no._ She was a woman now, with fifty years of experience, and that didn’t make it any easier as imagination rushed in to fill the gap— “Are you sure? That might be... interesting, don’t you think?”

Tegan blushed crimson.

“Speechless? Tegan, I’m shocked. Are you sure you’re feeling well? ...Oh, dear. How tiresome." The uncanny animals had begun to chitter and squeal in alarm, and there was a crunch of approaching footsteps. Nyssa waved imperiously towards the shadowed undergrowth.  "Hide. Behind here."

Startled out of a trance, Tegan ducked for cover. The leaves in front of her were still swinging when the Doctor came crashing through vines and fronds from the opposite side of the clearing like a bull elephant, careless of the space he occupied or the plants he trampled.

"Nyssa, the Lord Mara has ordered a meeting in an hour," he said, and broke off. "What are you doing in here?"

"Feeding the birds," Nyssa drawled with blithe impudence. "Their plumage is fading. Just like mine."

"Hm. You'll find far more attractive clothes in the TARDIS wardrobe.” He broke into a smile that was almost a leer, turning Tegan’s stomach. “Something red, I think...or... black."

"We'll have to see what I can come up with," Nyssa said, stretching.

Dear gods, was she flirting with the _Doctor_ as well? Tegan glared out at both of them, trying to remind herself that neither was in their right mind. Wasn’t it a little depraved, even for the Mara, to be vamping another part of itself?

"Here's the key," he said, tossing it to her. "But don't bother with the flight controls. I've disabled them. One hour, Nyssa." He gave her a stern look, glanced around at the foliage as if searching for something, wrinkled his nose, and, mercifully, turned on his heel and stalked off. Tegan gulped for the breath she’d been holding too long.

"You can come out now," Nyssa purred.

"Thanks for not giving me away,” Tegan said, brushing bits of bark out of her hair as she stood. “That is _not_ the Doctor.”

"Oh, my poor Tegan. I know you're jealous."

"What?" She snorted. “As if. As soon as we get you two back to normal—” 

“I was born to power, you see,” Nyssa continued, speaking over her. “And if you work hard, I’ll let you be my... personal assistant. How would you like that?”

Ouch. The Mara turned out _all_ the skeletons, didn’t it? Tegan mustered a brittle smile. “Oh, thank you, Nyssa. I’d like that, uh, very much.”

“I’m so glad.” Rising with a twirl, Nyssa slipped her feet into her sandals and beckoned. “Come. You can help me dress.”

_Oh, rabbits_ , Tegan thought, averting her eyes from Nyssa’s sauntering hips as she led the way back to the TARDIS.

~ * ~

Tegan shut the TARDIS doors and sagged against the console, wishing she could remember how to lock them. Not that it mattered, she supposed; the Doctor could probably force his way in. Besides, the greater danger lay in here. But if only she could overpower Nyssa for a minute or two, there were plenty of belts and scarves in the wardrobe that might serve as bonds. She hurried to catch up.

“Oh, Tegan. I can hear you thinking all _kinds_ of things,” Nyssa said with a giggle. “An hour really isn’t enough time to enjoy... ah, here we are.” She pushed open the wardrobe door and stepped inside. 

Seeing her chance, Tegan lunged forward with palms out, aiming for the small of Nyssa’s back.

Nyssa spun, lithe and sinuous, seized Tegan’s wrists and threw her across the room, snaring her in a web of the Doctor’s old scarves. By the time Tegan had disentangled herself, the wardrobe door had shut. To her horror, she saw Nyssa yank out a segment of closet rod and shake loose a clump of chitons and saris that billowed to the floor. Smiling, she turned towards Tegan, hefting the length of pipe like a mace.

“Come on, now,” Tegan said, backpedalling. “You said it might be interesting.”

“I suppose I did, didn’t I?”  Turning, she jammed the metal rod through the door handle, wedging it tightly against the doorframe. “There. No one can disturb us. Now, then. I require your services.”

Tegan stared at her with sinking dread. “Services?” She was stalling; she knew damned well what that meant.

But Nyssa merely raised her arms out from her body like an actress waiting for a swarm of backstage crew to effect a lightning costume change. “Undress me.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Or would you prefer I ask Turlough for assistance?” 

Tegan blanched. “That’s not fair,” she muttered, reaching for the laces of Nyssa’s vest.

“See, I said you were jealous.” Mercifully, Nyssa behaved with perfect decorum, allowing herself to be manipulated and turned as Tegan loosened the laces, drew off the vest and set it on a nearby stool.

They had shared a room for over a year. There was little of Nyssa that Tegan had not seen before. But never like this, never with glittering eyes or the buzzing presence of that awful snake on her arm, a foe that could strike in an instant. Tegan’s fingers trembled as she tugged the blouse from the waistband of Nyssa’s pants and gently pulled sleeves free. She wanted to hug Nyssa close, hold her until the madness had passed, but that would never happen without help. Dropping to her knees to remove Nyssa’s sandals (she was _not_ human, no human should have uncalloused feet at age fifty, let alone seventy), Tegan guessed that the best thing to do would be to flatter her vanity and find a dress she favored as quickly as possible. Tegan fumbled with belt and buttons, gingerly removed velvet trousers and set them on the growing pile of clothes.

She stood quickly, scanning the room for anything flashy and silk within easy reach. Maybe one of those Roman frocks with the shoulder-brooches? “Well, Nys— milady, have you an outfit in mind, or should I... find attire that befits your station?” 

“Presently,” Nyssa said. “But you’re not finished! What was I thinking when I dressed this morning? This will hardly be flattering for my décolletage.” She snapped her fingers towards her conservative bra capped with old-fashioned lace. 

Biting her lip, Tegan slipped behind her to work the hooks. _At least I’m not Turlough_ , she reminded herself.

“So genteel,” Nyssa said, shimmying her shoulders to let the garment fall away. “So...demure. Oh, Tegan, would all of this be easier for you, if I just...” She reached back and traced a sinuous line over the the veins of her wrist... “eased your mind?”

Tegan yanked her hand away. “Don’t!” 

Nyssa turned, slow and regal, a lift to her chin that compelled the eye. “The Mara knows what you truly want, remember? And now I know what _I_ wanted all those years ago, before I could put a name to it. So stop trying to save me from myself.” She spread her arms with a dancer’s flourish, bold and confident, unabashed. “It’s still me, darling. Here I am.”

Checkmate. Licking her lips, Tegan darted a quick glance towards the door. She doubted she could budge the improvised bar before Nyssa grabbed her. But she was just standing there, ceding the next move. _Not Nyssa. The Mara._

But...

Tegan found herself taking a minute step forward. She balled her fists at her sides, trying not to look. Nyssa’s body had filled out to heavier curves, sagging and etched with a few stretch marks, age stripping away that veneer of etherial beauty she had once possessed, but even the gentle swell of her hips and belly looked squeezable—

“ _Tegan._ ” The husky timbre of raw _want_ hit Tegan in the solar plexus, or lower.

_ Would you prefer I asked Turlough for assistance?  _

Tegan’s jaw clenched. She would rather chuck that boy out an airlock than imagine Nyssa’s lips curling around his name in that sultry manner, even if the rational side of her mind knew that Nyssa couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ speak to Turlough like that because then it would only be the Mara’s voice speaking, not the dear soul behind it. Nyssa was still in there somewhere.

Ethics and formulae like _under the influence_ and _not responsible for her actions_ all pointed one way. But Nyssa was the saint, not Tegan, and deep down a traitorous voice in her mind (the Mara?) was whispering: _take it. Take it_. _Don’t waste the chance._ Another half-step forward, and Nyssa’s arms were gliding around her waist and up her spine as Tegan fell against her mouth with a whimper, clutching at her shoulders.

Warm, wild kisses. Flushed skin. Breasts fuller than Tegan remembered, enough to cup open-palmed. No shyness now, only aggressiveness that grabbed and pinched and claimed, marking Tegan’s skin with nails and teeth. She forgot even to object when the tube top was rolled up over her head and flung away. More kisses, tongue to tongue. Staggering over the jumbled garb at their feet, they tumbled onto heaps of fabric, legs scissored between legs. The pressure through their last remaining garments was an aching pleasure. 

Sliding under her, Nyssa seized the scruff of Tegan’s hair and pushed her head down, dragging their mouths and tongues apart. Nuzzling Nyssa’s collarbones, Tegan found pale skin prickled to goose bumps. She swore as Nyssa drew polished fingernails across the sensitive skin beneath her navel. Then it was a contest of discovery: tongue’s caress on inner arms had Nyssa mewling audibly, while Tegan shuddered when Nyssa’s wet fingertips painted the back of her earlobes down to her jaw and under, circling her throat.

Nyssa’s thighs clamped down on Tegan’s in a mute demand.

_I require your services._

“Three’s a crowd, you know,” Tegan said shakily, rubbing her cheek against Nyssa’s neck. “If the Mara would just... go away... I’d be so happy to—” 

“I won’t let it hurt you, Tegan,” Nyssa said, the hair-raising vibrato in her voice giving the lie to soothing words. “Born to power, remember? I am not its slave. It belongs to _me._ As... do... you.”

Nyssa seized her waist and, with surprising strength, lifted and turned her, using legs for leverage. There was a moment of precarious teetering while Tegan struggled not to crush her friend, and then they resettled, inverted, yin to yang. Mara notwithstanding, the aroma rising from the knickers beneath Tegan’s nose was divine.

She gave one last incoherent squawk of protest when Nyssa turned her head and nipped her inner thigh, causing one leg to jerk involuntarily. When Tegan took her weight off that knee, confident hands darted in to peel her shorts and underwear down. Tempted beyond reason, Tegan allowed that last vestige of modesty to be removed.  Kissing Nyssa’s stomach, she eased her body back, down, open to whatever the older woman had planned. She whimpered again when Nyssa stopped her with a hand against her mons, suspended where hypersensitive flesh could feel every warm puff of quickened breath.

“Nyssa,” she begged.

“Turnabout’s fair play, darling,” Nyssa said, wriggling her hips.

“Yeah,” Tegan said, dazed. She scrabbled for the waistband of unassuming cotton briefs, shoved them down— gods, that scent— and remembered just in time not to throw them too far.

A slap on her buttocks guided her down. A groan caught in her throat as she bowed her head and dove into curls with her tongue, tasting. Two bold fingers slid into her without warning or preamble. She cried out, losing her place, clutching the sides of Nyssa’s legs as the smaller woman explored her outer folds with a thumb, found her clit and replaced thumbpad with lips, sucking lewdly.

Not to be outdone, Tegan probed with her tongue, rewarded by a high soft cry as she found the right spot. It was difficult to stay focused with the double assault of hot mouth and slippery fingers thrusting with slow strokes— no, she would not think why Nyssa knew how to curl fingers and quiver just _there—_

She nearly fell over the edge, but the frustrated buck of hips under her, all but smothering her nose and mouth, drew her back to her own task. Nyssa’s wanton moans were rising in a wordless paean of lust and demand, fast and ragged now. Tegan rocked involuntarily, riding a tingling wave of building ecstasy. As it began to bubble over, Tegan cried out, hoarse, breaking away to choke out Nyssa’s name. Shuddering, she buried her face in damp curls, clinging helplessly for several mindless seconds of pure bliss before diving back in. Forgetting the last stricture she had set for herself, she plunged a finger in deeper than tongue could reach. Heated softness tightened around it, and she added two more digits in a mad frenzy, losing the last semblance of control as Nyssa’s fluting cries reached her ears. The body under her began to rise, arch, hang — a rippling spasm clutched at her knuckles — Nyssa went completely silent, but her body spoke in waves. 

Tegan found she was weeping.

Sweating and limp, she collapsed. Slowly she became aware of hands pushing against her stomach, ordering her up. Dimly she realized that both of them were a mess and that her jaw ached in ways she had not thought possible. She rose, reversed position and snuggled close, eager to kiss those sweet lips that had worked such magic.

With a pang of guilt, she saw not the shining eyes of her dearest friend, but a lascivious, sated smile, red tongue tucked in the corner of red lips, eyes sardonic and burning with triumph.

“Oh, Nyssa,” Tegan said helplessly.

“Now, darling,” she said, all dimples, “it can’t _possibly_ have been as bad as all that. I feel quite refreshed. But I suppose affairs of state demand a postponement of more pleasant affairs for now. We’ll try your idea about the scarves... later. Fetch the red Monaco gown for me, would you? And a stole, lest I catch cold. I do believe I need a shower.” Planting a very wet kiss on Tegan’s nose, she rolled away and stood, crossed the room and yanked the pole out of the door handle. She seemed to be in full possession of herself once more. Tegan stared muzzily after her, watching that sashaying bare bottom retreating around the corner.

“ _You_ need a shower?” Tegan grumbled.

Wanting nothing more than to lie still and bask like an exhausted swimmer cast onto a warm beach, she scrambled to find her own clothes. She had to get back to the console room and fend off any intruders. 

Especially Turlough.


End file.
